


Alone, Alone, Alone.

by AppalachianApologies



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Cameos from the following hallucinations:, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode s01e11, Episode: s01e11 Alone Time, Gabrielle Le Deux - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Jessica Whitly - Freeform, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm has a LOT of problems, Martin Whitly - Freeform, More like Basement Time, Whump, slightly psychotic, this is just a casual psychotic break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Set in the basement of Alone Time (1x11), Malcolm's psyche is a little worse for wear.Also the hole in his side. That too.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Alone, Alone, Alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having waaaayyy too much fun with this type of prose. That being said- this didn't come out exactly how I wanted it to, but I'm still proud of it :)
> 
> One quick thing before you read- Yes, I'm very aware of what quotation marks are. I made a conscious decision to not use them to portray the broken mind of Malcolm :D

Malcolm’s blood drip, drip, drips down his side.

It stains the floor in drop, drop, drops.

Watkins watches from a millimeter away, even if he isn’t in the room.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

The human body has approximately ten pints of blood in it, and it makes up an average 8% of body weight.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

Malcolm wonders how much he can lose before he dies.

Dr. Whitly tells his boy, Even after a few pints, your body’s going to go into hypovolemic shock.

Malcolm should probably do something about that.

But the profiler can barely open his eyes as his blood drip, drip, drips down his side.

The concrete is cool, and his blood congeals fast, fast, fast, until it turns into a crusty puddle.

The world around him is wonderfully calm, and Malcolm wonders why he’s never been down here before.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

You know, my boy, Martin begins, A good clean-up was half the battle when I was in my prime.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

Malcolm tells his father to shut up, to leave, to never come back, but he doesn’t listen.

Watkins was never good at clean-up, Martin finishes.

The world around him has never been calm, and he’d do anything to leave it.

His heart beat, beat, beats, and with each beat the blood drops, drops, drops onto the floor in simple splat, splat, splats.

A metronome that never ends, even as his blood volume goes down, down, down.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Gabrielle looks at him and reminds him that circle thinking isn’t going to get him anywhere.

Martin agrees.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

After all, The girl in the box reminds him, It didn’t help me.

Malcolm thinks of all the victims that he couldn’t save.

He thinks of lime flavored hard candy, and hundred year-old bourbon.

The metronome in the room reminds him of his mother’s drinking. The drink, after drink, after drink, and how it turned into bottle, after bottle, after bottle.

Jessica scoffs at him. Oh please. At least I have the decency to drink through our family’s problems.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Malcolm’s eyelids droop. They flutter down, down, down, until all he can see is darkness.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

He counts pint, after pint, after pint of blood, and wonders where it all began.

He wonders where it all went wrong.

Don’t dwell on the past, my boy. Martin tells him.

The blue sky welcomes Malcolm, and the clouds float, float, float over him.

And then the concrete walls close in on him until he’s alone, alone, alone once more.

Except he never really was accompanied before, was he?

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

I’m always here for you, my boy.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

The sun rises at the same time as the moon, but no light ever shines down on Doctor Whitly’s Prodigal Son.

The light above him flickers, flickers, flickers, but never burns out.

Malcolm thinks that the light is doing much better than him.

The floor moves when Malcolm opens his eyes. But, as Martin points out, his eyes aren’t open.

His blood slows down, down, down, until it’s stopped, stopped, stopped. 

And yet it continues to pour, pour, pour, until it gushes out like life depended on it.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Oh Malcolm. Your life does depend on it. His father reminds him.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

The stars are beautiful tonight. It reminds him of a world a million miles away.

That world is only a few feet away.

Malcolm moves his hand and his wound drips, drips, drips.

Now’s not really the time for a nap, is it?

Malcolm shakes his head.

Good. Stand up, my boy. Martin lends a hand, and Malcolm rises like a phoenix.

Eesh. The doctor points to his body on the ground, You’re really not looking too good there, are you?

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Malcolm agrees that no, he does not.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

He then walks.

He leaves the basement, and the steady metronome ends, ends, ends.

The metronome never leaves, leaves, leaves.

Looking up at the bright blue sky, Malcolm can’t help but think that the moon and stars look beautiful above him.

Martin takes his hand and slices it open.

The eye of the hand.

Malcolm looks, looks, looks, but can’t see anything.

Let’s take a walk, His father suggests.

He blinks once, twice, thrice, and he’s not walking anymore.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Malcolm thinks that his gravestone is peaceful.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

It’s simple but sharp, everything that he once was a long, long, long time ago.

He traces the indented words with his finger, but Martin clicks his tongue, and suddenly he can’t feel anything.

You never did pay attention when I taught you about nerves, did you?

He did.

He did not.

Malcolm’s fingernails fall out, out, out, until there’s nothing left.

The sun is shining bright today.

The sky rains blood, and Martin splashes in the puddles.

Malcolm opens his eyes and the only thing to greet him is the gray, gray, gray concrete.

It’s stained red, red, red.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

His blood continues to drip, drip, drip, and Gabrielle welcomes him back.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

When he looks up, the sky is no longer blue, blue, blue. Tears fall down from the ceiling, and wipe away the pints of blood he’s lost.

Martin teaches him a quick arithmetic lesson. It’s simple, simple, simple subtraction.

Gabrielle asks him why he can’t just smash the metal itself.

Martin laughs, and Malcolm joins in.

Everyone leaves and once again he’s alone, alone, alone.

He counts one, two, three.

The hammer swings down, down, down, and it reaches his thumb, thumb, thumb.

He screams.

He screams.

He screams.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Malcolm looks back on his gravestone, and this time the rest of his family has their own respective rocks.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

Each of them are carved with rose stained words,  _ Loving Family _ , and Malcolm thinks he’s never read something so cruel.

When he walks around them, they snake out to reach his hand.

Malcolm lets them.

His coffin is still warm.

He looks into the dirt and sees one million planets far, far, far away.

Malcolm opens his eyes.

He’s free, free, free.

He walks up step, after step, after step.

The steps turn into piano keys, and each time he puts one foot in front of the other, a beautiful melody plays.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

It reminds Malcolm of the starry sky.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

When Malcolm moves, elegant constellations make themselves known at his feet, up to his ankles, knees, hips, and finally to his side, side, side.

Blood drips down, down, down, until it reaches his feet.

Each time he steps it sticks, sticks, sticks.

The zoo has footprints to each of the Big Cats Exhibits.

Martin tells him that he used to love the Lions.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Voices ring, ring, ring throughout the house as Malcolm stalks closer, closer, closer.

_ Tock, tock, tock. _

He brings the hammer down, down, down as the roars echo, echo, echo.

Malcolm lays down on the grass and watches the ceiling fan in the sky.

Malcolm lays on the wooden floor and watches the clouds in the ceiling.

Is this what it feels like to go mad, mad, mad?

He thinks he must be dying, dying, dying, for the last thing he hears is,

“Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm.”

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

**Author's Note:**

> ...So that's my new favorite type of prose...
> 
> If you liked this style, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, and if you really loved it, I have two more pieces written similarly: [Nullification](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846354) (Criminal Minds) and [Dull, Dull, Very Dull](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160405) (MCU) that you can check out if you want, but don't feel like you have to!!
> 
> Here's some hotlines for you beautiful people:
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, I strongly urge to find a safe place and look up hotlines for your own country. You are not alone <3
> 
> I love you all and I hope you all have a good day!! <3


End file.
